Getting Down to Business
by Morello
Summary: After the failure of his plans at Corel Rufus is imprisoned by the Turks. He knows that they all hate him and he's not sorry at all. But where's Reno? Rated M. Not fluffy.


**If you like big-eyed Advent Children Reno strolling through the autumn leaves with his devoted bf Rufus this fic is not for you. **

**Despite the title there's not much actual sex in it. **

**Warnings: a gun. Reno being a Turk. Rufus being a bastard. Hints of death and such. **

**Because these are not very nice people. **

**Getting Down to Business**

Rufus Shinra isn't sorry. The whole setup was a gamble from the start, and he's still not sure that it failed – not completely. He's alive, after all, and he has his father's attention. He has the Turks' attention too, for the first time in his life, and even if it comes with silent fury and murderous glares, at least it's present and tangible – electricity prickling his skin when he looks into their eyes and knows that they wish him dead. They no longer look through him – he has gained visibility if nothing else – and he revels in their hate – basks in it. This secret, hidden cell is containment, not punishment, and he paces it like a wild animal – untamed – untameable. When the blond Turk (younger than Rufus is) brings him his food, Rufus only has to turn his head suddenly to catch the flash of it in the boy's wide-set eyes – not simply loathing, not only that.

_You see me now,_ Rufus thinks. _You understand that I am dangerous. Yes, you understand, and you fear me. _

Their fear gives him pleasure. He looks for it each time one of them enters the room – develops a need to see it confirmed. He holds their bitter gazes every time – the slum-styled, dark-haired gangster who would like to draw his two sleek guns and shoot twin bullets into Rufus' cold blue eyes – the heavy, square-jawed fighter whose hands clench into fists as Rufus stares him down – the calmer, older Turk with the glasses and the scar, who keeps his expression neutral, but whose eyes blaze fury before he looks away.

The women are subtly different. Perhaps they feel his dominance differently, the dogs and the bitches, but they all know he's the superior animal. The males would like to kill him – to replace him - but they can't. The females would like to kill him – or to be fucked by him – but they can't. They have their orders. No orders for _him_. Only containment, until the day he's ready to take what's his. That's what they know. That's what they fear.

There are two exceptions.

Tseng is one of them. He carries his own, potent kind of danger – and, in Rufus' present, straightened circumstances, Tseng is the only one he considers a threat - almost an equal. He has never out-stared Tseng, because Tseng will not look at him. Without speaking, Tseng says to him, "You are still invisible to me. You are nothing." Rufus is prepared to wait for his chance with Tseng. One day their eyes will meet, even if it's only accidental – and then, they'll see.

But Tseng knows this is only a waiting game. Rufus will be the boss – that's just the way it's going to be.

Unless…

There are two Turks he hasn't seen since Corel. One of them, the eager young woman with the ponytail, he's sure was wounded in the reactor; perhaps even killed. Of course, the other Turks won't volunteer information, and, naturally, it's beneath his dignity to ask.

And then there's Reno.

Rufus has never known what to make of Reno, which disturbs him, because he prides himself on always knowing exactly what to make of people – contacts, allies, enemies, weapons. In the past, whenever he's thought that he has the irritating loudmouth pegged, Reno has done something to make him change his mind. Even that epithet 'irritating loudmouth'… because in the helicopter on the way back from Corel, Reno's tight-lipped silence was more intimidating than the dark glances and muttered curses of all the others together.

Rufus knows how Reno will look at him. He glimpsed it in the reactor building – Reno beside him as Rufus revealed his treachery with a conjuror's flourish. The shock and disbelief of the others was all he expected, but Reno's initial surprise was over almost at once, and his words, quietly spoken, not threats or curses but only: "That does explain things." He gave Rufus a look – not furious, or shocked, or incredulous, but… thoughtful. Rufus has several ideas about what might have been going through Reno's head at that moment, and none of them reassure him at all.

Since he has been here – two months now (they allow him a calendar; they allow him most things he asks for as long as they can't be used as instruments of escape or as weapons) – he has seen all the other Turks on many occasions. But not Reno. Why not?

Why does it matter? Perhaps Reno's been sent to hunt down Veld? That would make a lot of sense – Reno is fast and lethal.

Why does Rufus care? Why, each day at meal times, does he feel an anticipatory hitch in his breathing before the door opens – before he sees that it's not Reno, not today? It unnerves him: he wants this confrontation over.

Reno has always demanded attention, from the very start. Even if you discount his physical presence – that outrageous paint-splash, blood-smear hair screaming _look at me you bastards _– And the slashed tattoos; precise slices across the death-toned pallor of skin stretched taut over angles that reveal the skull beneath too starkly –

Yes, the _look_ of the man has always been enough to make Rufus shiver – to think _it would be like fucking death personified –_ and why in hell should that thought get him hard? That it does, intrigues him darkly, suggesting a sickness in his psyche he would rather not explore…

But even if you discount all that – _and the image of long fingers pressed against his throat, whispered threats, and the vicious promises of that razor smile –_ that aside – there is still the sense of _force_ about him, blazing with a wild-fire energy that will burn without regard for weaknesses such as mercy. If Reno is death, he is not the silent shadow waiting in the wings to strike mid-act leaving nothing but unanswered questions. No – leave that role to Tseng. Reno is a predatory creature; he will pursue and kill up close, looking you in the eye until you can't see for the blood. He is death straight out of the traps – unleashed – instilling panic in his hapless prey. Rufus knows that, of all of them, Reno is the one…

If Rufus Shinra could admit to fear, Reno would be the one who could make him feel it.

Why is Reno waiting?

What is he waiting for?

No. He's on Veld's trail – Veld is the prey, not Rufus. All this is just a kind of paranoia bred out of too many hours alone – too much silence – and too many thoughts of a fascinating Turk who is not yet subdued – who has not yet succumbed to categorization.

When he comes, Rufus will look into his eyes and decide exactly where to place him: ally or enemy – a weapon to be wielded, or a threat to be eliminated. Those are the choices. _Not – a vicious brawl of a fuck with a hard, ruthless man who has eyes that might look even at Rufus Shinra without flinching, and an instinctive understanding that nature works this way – there has to be a top dog, and he'll fight tooth and claw before conceding that position. _

No.

Though it may be that even before Corel Rufus sometimes thought of Reno as he fucked some pretty society girl or boy too anodyne to get him off without these darker images in his brain (_oh FUCK – Reno!). _It may be that in his single bed in this cage of a room, he still thinks of Reno as he fucks nothing but his own hand, because the sex impulse is too strong, and even Rufus Shinra is human and not made of intellect alone. But all that means is that Reno is already a tool adapted by Rufus to his own use. It implies nothing about the man's power over _him_. Reno can be permitted no power over him, because Rufus is a Shinra, and the Turks – all of them – will be his to command. It's only a matter of time and will – and Rufus is certain that he has enough of both. Yes. _Certain_.

So when – this morning – now – the door of his prison opens, and Reno enters, Rufus does not start, or turn away, or betray anything. He waits, and looks Reno in the eye. But Reno's not playing – not _biting_. He turns to lock the door behind him and the loss of eye contact means only that he has other things to do – not that Rufus has won.

Well – of course it wouldn't be that easy.

Rufus watches as Reno turns back to face him, and his heart is pounding with the sure knowledge that if Reno has decided to kill him, then nothing – not position, not orders, not consequences – will stop him.

Rufus feels more alive than he has ever felt before except once – in that reactor – _Fuhito, kill them! – _when, for the instant before his plans unravelled, he gained a visceral understanding of the vast scope of his father's power.

And then the deflation of the realisation that it had slipped from his grasp – that, in reaching for it too early, he might have lost it forever.

Now, as then, his future hangs upon this moment. What will Reno do? Rufus is certain that he will win in the end – he _has_ to win – but he is throbbing with the awareness that there are things he could do now – words and actions – that would result in his death at the hands of this Turk.

Reno is looking at him – _seeing_ him - and the Turk's face is a mask Rufus can't read. Rufus allows Reno to look – standing straight against the assault, unflinching, as he must always stand. The silence between them expands until the air is thick with it.

Reno reaches into the inside of his open jacket, and takes out a gun. He doesn't aim it.

Rufus remains still, but raises an eyebrow in genuine surprise. "Not your usual weapon."

Reno smiles, and the stark coldness of the expression sends a bullet of lust straight to Rufus' groin.

"Only for quick executions," Reno says.

"What kept you then?" Rufus asks.

"I was waiting," Reno replies, the gun in his left hand now pointing in the direction of Rufus' right kneecap, "for a time when no one else was around."

"So – if I overpower you, I'm free?"

Reno only scoffs at that. Rufus smiles – a concession to Reno's superiority in terms of brute strength – nothing more.

"Why wait then?" Rufus asks, as though he's marginally more interested in knowing than not. "You can't imagine you'll get away with it."

"No." Reno's eyes ignite like fuses. "But – don't want anyone else implicated. This is - you and me."

"Ah," Rufus sighs. "_That_."

"_If you kill the Turks I'll consider the matter dropped_?" Reno quotes. "Our lives mean fuck all but _business_?"

Rufus isn't sorry. "It's all about business," he says. "Always. Your lives or mine. It's a fair trade. So – what do you get out of killing me? Tseng will put a bullet in your head: my father will find a new heir somewhere or other. Who knows how many bastards he's got hidden away?"

Reno laughs. "Yeah – and it would have to be one hell of a bastard to take your place, right? But –" And suddenly Reno's hand is on Rufus' throat – tight, but not quite tight enough to choke – and Rufus is backed against the wall, the muzzle of Reno's gun hard against his temple, angled down towards his right eye. "- What if all I get out of it is the satisfaction of seeing your brains decorating that wall behind you? 'Cause that's the business _I'm_ in." Reno shoves himself up against Rufus, and the gun traces a cool line from temple to cheek, settling under Rufus' jaw and forcing his chin up. Reno's breath is hot against his ear, dry lips brushing his skin as Reno murmurs, "What if that's _enough_?" Rufus feels a thrill that is something to do with fear, and a whole lot more to do with Reno's weight and heat pressed against him. If he says the wrong thing now, _if he says the right thing, _Reno will pull the trigger.

It's not Reno he fears, he suddenly realises – it's himself. This is the thrill of the cliff-edge calling – the impulse to death that is the dark converse to the will to live. And Reno feels it too – feels it equally. That's why this moment has been inevitable from the start.

Rufus says nothing. Reno looks at him for an answer – and that's the difference between them. The light in Reno's eyes intensifies, and there's an instant when Rufus almost panics – almost catches himself thinking _he's not sane – he'll do it!_ But he is Rufus Shinra, and he holds his nerve.

Reno sees what he saw in the reactor building in Corel – the power that has nothing to do with who this man's father is – the power that is Rufus' own will. _Yes_, he thinks. _That's it. What we need._

Aloud he says, "Fuck. You _bastard_. You really don't give a shit, do you?"

"No," agrees Rufus, pressing his hips closer to Reno's. "I really don't." Rufus' smile is the nastiest, sexiest thing Reno's ever seen.

Rufus puts his right hand over Reno's left, holding the gun, and drags the muzzle over the cruel curve of Reno's lower lip. Then he leans forward – Reno's hand on his throat relaxing just enough to give him leeway – and seals their unspoken deal with a ruthless kiss.

The sex is fast, bruising, satisfyingly violent, and not really the point – but they both know there will be plenty more of it in the months and years to come. Rufus will give Reno as much of the world as he wants in exchange for the means to take it. They have the measure of each other now.

When Reno's gone, Rufus lies carefully on the narrow bed and smokes one of Reno's cigarettes. It's good to be back in business. Perhaps Reno still doesn't fit neatly into any one category… He's still as much enemy as ally – and the weapon he constitutes is dangerous to wield. And perhaps Rufus hasn't won this exchange quite as comprehensively as he might have wished – next time, for example, he's definitely going to make sure he's on top. But, all in all, it's been a satisfactory morning's work.

Rufus Shinra isn't sorry. Isn't sorry at all.


End file.
